


When you had not touched me yet

by FelicisQuill2



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Time, Praise Kink, Seductive!Bellamy, Smut, The 100 (TV) Kink Meme, Virgin!Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-03-01 08:39:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18796837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelicisQuill2/pseuds/FelicisQuill2
Summary: Prompt: 15-year-old Clarke goes to a slumber party at Octavia's house where Bellamy is in charge. They end up fucking after the other girls fall asleep.





	1. Chapter 1

The rippling bronze muscles in Bellamy's forearms strain as he puts down the brown paper grocery bags with a heavy clank on the table. Clarke stands frozen at the open refrigerator door, cold air blowing across her body. All she'd wanted when she'd left Octavia's bedroom was a fresh glass of lemonade. An onslaught to her senses was not what she'd been anticipating at all when she'd padded into the Blakes' kitchen. A few moments ago (or maybe it was closer to a minute, but who could say for sure?), the door to the garage had burst open. And now her best friend's older brother with his tangled black curls and perfect bone structure was currently standing fifteen feet away from her. Shirtless. Rubbing sweat off his forehead with his T-shirt. 

"You gonna answer me sometime today, Princess?" 

She takes a breath to try to slow her heart rate. 

"Sorry. W-what did you say?" 

Bellamy smirks and rolls his eyes as he begins unpacking the bag closest to him. "I said can you scamper back to your little friends and find out what toppings they want on their pizzas, so I can get started being Chef Boyardee?" 

Clarke hears the words, really she does. The problem is her brain just isn't stringing them together like it normally does to make a coherent thought. 

"Umm, well, ummm." She bites her lip. Hard. 

"What's the matter? You've never seen a jar of tomato sauce before?" Bellamy teases, wiggling it through the air. 

Tomato sauce she'd seen. But his chest glistening like that... or the trail of dark hair peeking up from the waistband of his shorts, well. They are suddenly making her throat very dry. Clarke feels the heat of a rosy blush scampering up her neck. The right words annoyingly continue to allude her. Bellamy for his part seems to be ignoring her now, tossing his shirt on the back of a chair and creating two orderly piles of food in front of him - one for what needs to be refrigerated and the other for the nonperishables.  

"I swear to God it's got to be 95 degrees out there," he mumbles to himself, though it's loud enough for her to hear. "From now on, Octavia can buy her own damn snacks."  

Clarke titters nervously, even though there is literally nothing funny about what he's just said. She just can't help herself - it's an involuntary reaction. Like a wandering nomad drawn to a campfire on a bitter winter night, she drifts closer to him. 

"You're right." 

"Then again, she just got her permit ..." he says at the same time Clarke responds. 

Bellamy's hands cease moving, and his eyes snap up to find hers. She rarely agrees with him.  

"Excuse me?" 

Clarke tosses him a hesitant smile and tucks her long blonde braid back behind her shoulder. The tiny dose of confidence brewing in her gut is something she feels like she should capitalize on while it lasts. 

"I mean you shouldn't let her use you for whatever she wants." 

The very corner of Bellamy's lip twitches. He places the block of mozzarella cheese he's holding down and steps closer to her. In her bare feet, he's a good six inches taller than Clarke and enjoys lording it over her at any and all given opportunities.  

Her heart returns to skidding painfully against her ribcage when the musky scent clinging to him reaches her. Thoughts begin to jumble and wriggle together in her brain again, and she feels something akin to itchiness along her arms. Bellamy's umber eyes darken a shade. He flicks them down the length of her body, which immediately starts to tingle in response. Suddenly, she wishes she'd chosen a different outfit. A faded pair of cut-off shorts and a threadbare T-shirt that shows the outline of her lacy bra isn't exactly much help at the moment. Yet a strange surge of gratification races through her when his tongue traces over his full bottom lip. His next works flip her stomach. 

"Should I just let you do that instead?" 

Alarm bells blast in Clarke's head. She has to be imagining the flash of desire that passes across Bellamy's face as he looks down at her. He's close enough for her to splay a palm across his abs, to notice the tiny flecks of gold woven into his irises. 

"Hmmm?" she murmurs distractedly. 

"Should I let you use me for whatever you want?" Bellamy's tone drops an octave, but his eyes sparkle with pure mischief when her own find his again. 

Clarke's heart hammers against the hollow of her neck even as she shoves him away by his shoulders. 

"Gross, Bellamy! Don't be such a dick!" 

His rumble of laughter is instant. 

"You've got a smart mouth, Princess." He reaches forward and rubs his thumb right across her lips, taking a smear of plum lipgloss with it. "And you need a few more cosmetology lessons." 

"What are you doing?" She's trying to sound sure and probably failing miserably. 

"Purple's not really your color," comes his response as he takes a step back to survey her face. She instantly misses the way his fingers had brushed along the underside of her jaw moments before. "Maybe red or hot pink." He runs a hand through his hair then leans back against the counter. "Yeah, those would suit you better." 

Clarke huffs air straight through her nostrils, completely in shock over what's happening. He's laughing at her - she just knows it. It's not out loud, not obvious and in her face. But she's known him long enough to see the imperceptible shake of his shoulders as he tries to hold it in. Her stomach gurgles with liquid hot rage.  

"Why the hell would you care what suits me?" she snaps.

Bellamy's answering grin is wolfish. "That's easy," he shrugs. "Because while you're under my roof, I'm the one that's got to look at you. You might as well make it worth my while." 

Clarke's mouth falls open as her eyes narrow. She hates herself, but even so, there's still a little twinge between her thighs at the words.  

"Ugh! You ... you're such a --" 

"Remember I'm the one cooking your dinner. Now why don't you do as I asked and find out about the pizza toppings?" 

"Fine," she says it as cuttingly as she can. 

She can't help but sway her hips a fraction while walking away from him though. Stupid fucking biological urges. 

"Oh, and Clarke?" 

"Yeah?" she tucks her chin against her shoulder and attempts to glance at him from underneath her lashes. 

"Shut the goddamn refrigerator door. You're letting all the cold air out." 


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke leans against Octavia's doorframe, probably breathing too heavily, and hastily closes the door behind her. 

"What's with you?" Raven asks from the desk where she's sorting through Octavia's Netflix queue in search of a movie to watch. Harper is looking on from over her shoulder and pointing toward the options she likes best as they flick across the laptop screen. 

"Huh?" Clarke manages. 

Octavia turns her catlike blue eyes from the toenail she's polishing to survey her friend. 

"Yeah," she adds. "Weren't you going for lemonade or something?" 

"Oh," Clarke attempts to look nonchalant. "Bellamy came back with groceries, and I got distracted." 

Raven snorts. "That's a new word for it." '

"Raven!" Harper hisses lowly, glancing between Clarke and Octavia. 

But Octavia just flicks her hand through the air like it's nothing and returns to painting her nails. "It's fine," she smirks down at her feet in a way that is eerily reminiscent of Bellamy. "She doesn't do a very good job of hiding it." 

Clarke furrows her eyebrows though her temperature is spiking as a lazy grin spreads over Raven's face. "What's that supposed to mean? We talked about pizza toppings for God's sake." She grabs her sketch book up off Octavia's rumpled blue bedspread mostly for something to do with her hands before tossing herself down on the bed. "Which ones do you bitches want? He wants to know." 

"Pepperoni?" Raven wonders aloud and gets affirmative replies from Octavia and Harper before zeroing in on her blonde friend. "Or would you prefer sausage, Clarke?" 

Harper and Octavia erupt into giggles. Clarke picks up an old teddy bear from the bookshelf beside her and launches it at Raven's head, where it misses by an inch. 

"Easy, tiger," Raven holds up her palms in surrender. "I'm just screwing around with you." 

"But she doesn't want it to be  _you_  screwing around with her," Harper chimes in, winking at Clarke. 

"I do  _not_  like Bellamy," Clarke grumbles darkly before pilfering through the folds in the fabric in search of her charcoal pencil. She flips hastily to a clean page in her book the moment she realizes the sketch she'd been working on was starting to take the form of a familiar leather jacket. 

"'Course you don't," Octavia sighs. "That's why you're always fighting with him." 

"I fight with him because he's obnoxious," Clarke retorts. 

"Whatever, stay in denial," the brunette replies. "I'm going to give one hell of a speech at your wedding though." 

Raven offers to go tell Bellamy about the pepperoni and heads out the door, but Harper leans forward in interest to question Octavia further. 

"Oooh," she simpers, running a hand through her long, dirty blonde hair. "So you think there's a chance Bellamy likes her, too?" 

Octavia rolls her eyes. "He's a 20-year-old idiot who still drinks beers in the Walmart parking lot after work with Murphy and Jasper, Harps. That clearly shows he doesn't have the best judgment, let alone talking about his ability to process complicated emotions for  _girls_." 

Clarke's face burns like a beet, partly in embarrassment, but a spark of anger also flares in her stomach. 

"He works as a security guard to help pay the bills. And he's going to night school to teach ancient civilizations. His brain's just fine." The words spill out of her mouth before she can stop them.

Octavia stares at her for so long, Clarke's afraid her friend's turned to stone. But then she simply gives a quick jerk of her pointy chin and returns to her feet. Clarke wills her breathing to even out and starts to work on the outline of a rose bush. 

"He did have Gina a while ago," Harper says out of nowhere a minute later. 

The mere mention of her name feels like an icy fist clenching around Clarke's heart. 

"What?" Octavia sounds distracted. 

"Your brother. He dated Gina a while back. So he's not incapable of, like, I don't know--" she gestures vaguely with her hand. "Emotions." 

"Hmph," Octavia grunts. "I guess. Yeah, Gina was real."  

Real enough for Clarke to remember Bellamy holding the curly-haired girl's hand in front of the movies when she'd walked past them on her way to the hospital to see her mom one afternoon last fall. Real enough that he'd met Gina's family, even reading parts of  _The Iliad_  to her little brother for a bedtime story once. Or, at least that's what Octavia had told her. 

Her head is swimming with so many scattered thoughts that she feels like she's trying to hold on to balloon strings after she's already let them float toward the sky. Thankfully, Raven chooses that moment to enter the room again with the tray of lemonade Clarke had forgotten, telling them dinner will be ready in thirty minutes. 

Clarke's not sure how she gets wedged in next to Bellamy at the small kitchen table that can barely accomodate the five of them. She's only keenly aware of the shiny fabric of his long, black shorts occasionally pressing into her thigh when he shifts. 

She tries to pick the extra cheese she doesn't care for off her pizza slice and listen to Raven talk about building a robot for the science fair. Really, she does. But her mind keeps drifting to the solidness of his muscular leg right beside her, wondering what it would be like if he ever pressed her down on his bed--

"Clarke?  _Clarke_?" 

It must be the second or third time Bellamy's tried to get her attention. It's the sure way his fingers grasp her knee under the table that finally does the trick. She swiftly thumbs a bit of tomato sauce off the corner of her mouth and turns her attention to him. 

"What?" 

"I  _said_  do you need me to take you to school Monday?" 

It's only Saturday, and the girls are all sleeping over tonight because Octavia kept complaining she never got to see them together anymore now that Clarke and Raven were in so many AP classes and Harper had started dating Monty. But still. It's so like Bellamy to be thinking ahead, planning, taking care of everything. He's tried his best to take care of his sister since their mom passed away two years ago. To be fair, he's looked out for Clarke too, even though she mostly hates to admit it. He knows she can't get her license until her birthday in three weeks. Knows too her mom works so many hours as a surgeon at Arkadia Memorial that Clarke is often on her own for meals and basic things like trips to Target.  

Clarke tries to keep her face impassive when she meets his eyes. But it makes her too nervous, so she drops her gaze to the constellation pattern of freckles right below them. It's been happening more and more lately, her strange bursts of attraction to her best friend's older brother. Enough, apparently, for her friends to notice. For  _Bellamy_  to notice if his comments earlier were anything to go by. It's mortifying. He's four and a half years older than her. Watched her scrape her knees on the playground and find out she was allergic to eggs when Octavia offered her an egg salad sandwich at this very table when they were in kindergarten. Two bites in, and her throat started closing up. It was his mom Aurora who injected her with an Epipen while Bellamy looked on in horror. 

"Yeah, I do need you for that ... if you don't mind." Her voice sounds mostly calm and even remarkably.

"You got it, Princess." Bellamy winks at her, and Octavia wiggles her eyebrows from across the table. No, her best friend is totally insane and too hooked on the childhood idea of them being sisters forever. Bellamy could have whoever the hell he wanted. He certainly wouldn't pick a never-been-kissed rising junior whose only claim to fame was being friends with Governor Jaha's son and finally annihilating Lexa Woods in the last debate club event of the year. 

But his scorching palm stays right there on her knee, rubbing slow circles into the skin where no one can see. It's like living with a hornet's nest inside of her. She about jumps out of her seat when his deep voice tickles the shell of her ear soon after. 

"Can you help me clean this up?" 

The proximity alone brings a tightening to her nipples that she prays he won't be able to notice. Not trusting herself to speak or look at him - yes, she's pathetic - she just nods.  

Things are going fine. Clarke soaped up the dishes and dried them while Bellamy packed away what was left of the pizza and salad he made into tupperware containers, stacking them in the refrigerator. He was telling her about this little village in Greece he wanted to visit someday. It was nice, talking to him like this. Even if this was all she'd ever have - his reluctant friendship - she liked watching his large hands move when he got excited about something and the boyish grin take over his lips. But she must've gotten caught up wandering down the seaside cobblestone streets in her mind. One second she was walking gracefully away from the cabinets where she'd stacked the dishes, and the next she was tripping over the flip flops Octavia left beneath her chair and tipping forward. 

Bellamy's arms shot out of nowhere, but then his bronze hands were wrapping around her shoulders, steadying her, and she found herself clinging to the biceps she'd been staring at before. She panted for a few moments, caught up in the warm brown eyes watching her with a hint of worry in them. 

"You ok?" 

She bobs her head up and down. The loose blonde hair that was pulled free of its confines earlier by Harper spills out over her shoulders. "Fine. Sorry. Just clumsy." 

Bellamy's quick touch to her waist is nearly gentle enough to feel like a butterfly landed there then flew away. 

"Nah," he shakes his head minutely and brushes a stray bit of hair off her forehead, letting his thumb glide down her cheek. "You've a graceful princess." 

She's too stunned to say anything, and then he's stepping cleanly away from her, refilling the napkin container on the table and returning to his story about the magical village. 

It's only much later that night rolled up in a sleeping bag in Octavia's quiet gray room that she realizes the size of the problem she has on her hands. While her friends' tiny snores flutter around her, the pipes creak at her back as Bellamy presumably turns on the shower. The mere thought of him soaping up his torso or tipping his chiseled face up into the spray has her pressing her thighs closed tight for the friction. She can't stop thinking about how solid and smooth his biceps felt under her fingers in the kitchen. How his palm had callouses where it rubbed against her knee at dinner. She waits until she hears Octavia murmuring something in her sleep. Waits until the large, yellow moon that was resting in the branches of the oak tree outside the window rises high in the starry sky and turns silver-white. 

Then she gets up very carefully and pads down the hall in her sleep shirt and lace panties. Her hand shakes where it rests on the handle of Bellamy's bathroom door. But she takes a calming breath and pushes it open.  


	3. Chapter 3

The small bathroom smells like a spicy musk, and a thin mist lingers in the air as the door swings open. Bellamy drops the toothbrush he was holding into the sink and stares at Clarke with wide eyes. 

"What the hell, Clarke? Didn't they teach you to knock at princess school?" 

"Sorry," she manages when she finds the ability to speak. But she's really not. Bellamy's wearing a pair of royal blue boxers and nothing more. A few stray drops of water still lay scattered in crevices made by his defined abs. She has a strong urge to lick them off but quickly tampers down the instinct. "I didn't know anybody was in here." 

Bellamy arches his eyebrows at her. "Uh-huh. Our resident ghost must have turned on the light, sure." 

Damn him and his damn intellectual reasoning. Her swallow must be loud enough for him to hear. The blood swooshing in her ears is certainly its own percussion band at the moment. Clarke rubs at her thigh nervously, still blinking at him, mouth dry. The motion raises up the edge of her sleep shirt, and Bellamy tracks the motion with his dark eyes. The low whistle he lets out sends a fresh bolt of heat between her legs. He takes a few measured steps closer to her, rapidly closing the distance between them. Something in his face has definitely changed though she can't put her finger on what.   

"I know you, Clarke. So I  _know_  you're not trying to show me your black underwear." He takes her chin in his dry palm, and she forgets how to take a fresh breath altogether. "Are you?" 

She lets her hand fall limply to her side and tries not to get lost in the inky blackness of his dilated pupils. 

"Ummm," she bites her lip. Her brow is furrowed in concentration. There's no telling what the right way to answer this one may be. "N-no. I wasn't trying to." 

Bellamy's quick frown sends her palm searching frantically back behind her for the edge of the sink counter. She needs to feel something steady at her back. But then his face lightens, and a flash of his white teeth greet her once more. For the first time in all the time she's known him, he's blatantly looking at her breasts. She doesn't need to glance down to know why. Her nipples are hard as erasers under his gaze, almost painfully so.  "Well that is unfortunate, Princess." Suddenly, he grasps the bottom of her shirt in one fist and pulls her forward until their toes are nearly touching. "Because I did see them." 

Clarke remains perfectly still except for the fast rise and fall of her chest.  _This is what you wanted_ , she reminds herself. She forces her mind blank and focuses on the small scar above Bellamy's lip. He angles his thumb down in a swooping motion across the bare skin of her belly, and it sends electric darts through her. His eyes lock on hers, questioning behind the dark fan of lashes. 

"Why did you come in here?" 

 _Because ... because ... because ... because..._ it's the Wizard of Oz song that slips strangely into her brain.  _Because of the wonderful things he does._

She cracks a smile and then a low chuckle escapes her. Bellamy's shoulders relax, yet he throws her another unsure look. It takes her a moment to realize he's let her go. He hasn't moved away though. He pushes a hand through his damp hair, which shows the early signs of curling.  

"Clarke?" he demands in a tone that's a touch harsher. "What is going on with you?" 

Her small, pale hand curves up, higher and higher in the air. Neither of them dare breathe too heavy as it sails forward and rests very hesitantly on the top of Bellamy's warm bicep. 

"Sorry," she repeats again, quiet. "It was a mistake." 

In the time it takes her to turn around and scramble halfway through the door, his fingers clasp around her wrist, sure and firm, pulling her back inside the muggy space. He spins her so her back is against the doorframe and clicks the door shut with the flat of his palm, which stretches up above her head where he looms over her.

When he ducks forward, the tip of his nose dusts over her pink-flushed cheek. His words whisper into her ear but wind up far down in the depths of her stomach.

"It's only a mistake if you go." 

Clarke tilts her face back so she's able to peer at him as he pulls away, still watching her closely. 

" _Bellamy,"_ she whispers the syllables that make his name sweetly, her left hand beginning to flail at her side in her nervousness. There's no way to ask for what she wants. What she has dreamed about in the most secret corners of her mind right before she succumbs to sleep. 

He catches her fingers with his and intertwines them with a slowness that causes her to catch her breath. 

"It's ok, Princess. You're good. Everything's good," he reassures, using his free hand to trail the faintest line from her collarbone down between the valley of her breasts and over the little swell of her stomach until he reaches the lace of her underwear. 

Clarke's blue eyes widen in a sort of longing surprise, and it brings a half-smile to the corner of Bellamy's mouth. 

"You're not the only one who wants things, Clarke," he confesses, wrapping a sure hand over her hip. The tips of his fingers skim against her backside at the motion, but all she wants to be is closer to him. "It's ok to want things." 

"Bellamy," she says his name again like it will unlock the secrets of time and space. 

"Hmm?" he noses against her neck more fully this time, like he's breathing her in. Her eyelids flutter closed, and her little hands clutch at his waist to keep her balance. 

"I don't ... I haven't ... I-I wouldn't even know... " 

There's a grumble at the back of Bellamy's throat. 

"Good," he shushes her with one firm word then presses a dry kiss to the thick tendon flaring out from her neck. "I'll give you whatever you want, Princess." He rocks his hips casually against her at the words, and she almost hits her head against the wall at the sensation of his growing hardness pushing against her body. It's making her blood come alive, sizzling and crackling. A tiny moan falls from her lips. "You just have to ask me for it."  


	4. Chapter 4

When the heat of Bellamy's torso is lost, Clarke whines a little, and he laughs. Her dazed blue eyes take a moment to find his, and she pouts when her fingers must drop from his sides and fall limply to her own.  

Bellamy's answering grin is half-carnal, half-amused. "Do you like my hands on you, sweetheart?"  

His voice is husky in a way that sings through her. She's sure the tone's never been reserved for her before. Clarke's heart rate speeds up to match the frenzy of an oncoming train. She blushes hotly but nods all the same, basking in his full attention on her. 

"Tell me." 

He hears her little snort of air and smirks when she fidgets, uncomfortable with laying herself bare. 

"I like your hands on me." 

Bellamy nods with a quick jump of his eyebrows then steps closer. "Good, that wasn't so hard, was it?" 

Clarke shakes her head. A tiny balloon of pride swells in her chest that she's pleased him. Bellamy slips a hand under her shirt and rests it on the skin of her hip, stroking back and forth. Out of nowhere, a low pulse between her legs emerges.  

"What else do you want from me?" 

There's never been anything normal about Bellamy touching her. He's initiated a hug with her exactly twice in her life. Once after her father's casket had been lowered into the soft earth, and she couldn't put one foot in front of the other to leave the cemetery. He'd seen her face twisting up in her grief, a silent sob threatening to rip out of her. He'd walked swiftly to her in his navy suit and wrapped his arms around her shaking body, rocking her back and forth and making shushing sounds in her ear. The only other time was when she'd won the debate against Lexa a month ago. She hadn't even expected him to show up in her school's stuffy auditorium, but he'd been there in the second row, on his feet and clapping when she'd made her concluding remarks. He'd brought her yellow roses - she remembers being upset they weren't red, as stupid as that was - and pulled her in for a quick hug against his chest, whispering in her ear,  _"You were pretty bad ass up there, Princess."_

Maybe she's watched too many rom-coms during slumber parties exactly like this one at the Blake house. Well, not exactly like this one. But the old kind that involved eating raw chocolate chip cookie dough in the kitchen and playing truth or dare. She weaves her arms slowly up and over his shoulders, so they tangle behind his neck and presses her lips together before whispering, "Would you kiss me?" 

A surge of surprise passes over Bellamy's face, but then he swallows and schools it back to resemble his usual arrogant self-assuredness. 

"Mmm," he hums in agreement. 

Clarke holds her breath as he leans forward. She closes her eyes - overwhelmed with having him so near - and tilts her chin up. A moment passes, then two. Her breathing is shaky and audible. But then his lips land warm and pleasant on her forehead, his other hand dipping behind her and lightly cupping her ass. 

" _Bellamy."_

"Princess not getting what she wants?" 

He squeezes her ass cheek firmly in his grip, causing her to gasp in surprise. A moment later, Bellamy presses his lips over hers, hard and sure, and she holds him more steadily against her in her rush to find her footing. It's strange at first - the sound of his breathing against her cheek and her concern that she's not doing it right. But then Bellamy bites carefully at her lower lip, nudging at the seam of her lips with his tongue until she opens for him. He tastes like mint toothpaste, and she lets her own tongue skirt out quickly to explore his before drawing it back in case he doesn't like it. She feels his smirk against the side of her face more than sees it. His hand spills heat through her thin shirt where he presses it against the small of her back, guiding her pelvis into his, so she can feel his erection. 

"I like you, don't worry," he whispers in her ear. 

The action coupled with his words brings a surge of wetness into her panties that she can actually feel as a gush of fluid. And that's all it takes for something to snap in her brain. She knots her scrambling fingers into his thick hair and kisses him bruisingly, wanting to taste as much of him as she can. 

"I knew you'd be feisty," he pants after a full minute of it, skimming his fingers up her ribs toward her chest. 

Clarke wants to say something smart back, but her eyes are locked on the tan skin stretched over his knuckles and the tiny, greenish vein curling up through the underside of his wrist. 

"What do you say, Princess?" 

Her eyelids flutter open and closed a few times before she can manage the words. 

"I want you to touch me." 

"Where?" 

"On ... on --" she flushes again, a few tears of frustration tinged with embarrassment threatening to spill out over her lashes. "Here," she finally sighs, clasping his wrist and bringing his palm up to cover her left breast. Her head tilts back against the wall when Bellamy flicks a mean thumb over her nipple. It's pulled so tight and achy that it hurts.  

"My naughty Princess can't say the words?" 

She shakes her head, and Bellamy clucks disapprovingly. 

"These are your tits, Princess," he runs the blunt edge of his nail under the supple fat of the one in his palm just enough to sting a little and she bites at his mouth when he kisses her again. "Well, they're my tits now." He pets the side of the other one softly through the cloth. A blaze crashes down her spinal column. "I can't wait to play with them."

"I want you to," Clarke nearly cries out. 

The slow smile creeps back over Bellamy's features. He draws both of his hands completely away from her. 

"You want me to what?" 

"P-Play with my," she takes a deep breath and tries to suppress so many years of etiquette lessons. "Play with my tits." 

"Perfect, sweetheart. Now I'm gonna need you to take that top off for me, yeah?" 

Molten heat rides through her veins at the words, but her shaking fingers pull the cloth over her head, so she's bare and exposed to him. Small goosebumps fleck the milky white flesh of her breasts, and her nipples seem longer than usual, tight and petal pink. Bellamy just watches her for what feels like forever, eyes a shade of black as rich as oil. 

When he walks forward, it's to push a thigh between her legs. The smooth skin of her inner thigh brushes against the silky gloss of his boxers. Her hips undulate forward like they know the rhythm of this dance without any instructions. 

"There you go. Such a fast learner. Take what you need from me," he encourages her, pushes her hips down onto him a few times to increase the pressure and then bending down to suckle the tip of her breast right into his mouth.

The scratchy slide of his tongue over the sensitive flesh of her areola is electric. Clarke spasms on the spot, gripping the base of his neck and delighting in the way his hot mouth kisses and sucks at every square inch of her breast before turning his attention to the other. 

"Bell ... Bellamy," she pants out, stroking the tops of his shoulders while her hips move back and forth into the strength of his thigh on their own. A feeling of heat and stretch is taking form low in her hips and expanding slowly like a balloon filling up with air.   

"I know. You think it's too much, don't you, Princess?" He kisses her temple and then his thick fingers are pushing past the elastic of her panties and rubbing at her slick folds, nudging lazily against her clit. His other hand starts stroking the outside of her thigh, which trembles. "It's not, it's not," he soothes right before thrusting a finger into the tight heat of her body. 

Clarke squints her eyes shut as her walls fight to give way to him, not quite elastic enough. He kisses her messily when she starts to whine, rubbing his thumb sure and purposeful over the slippery nub of her clit. Tiny stars erupt behind her eyelids at the sensation. 

"Oh, you like my finger buried in you," Bellamy says as they break apart. 

"Yes ... yes," she stutters. It's hard to keep track of anything now. 

Bellamy nuzzles his face into the side of her neck, curving his finger up and scratching against where she should be most sensitive. He feels her walls pulse and tremble around him. 

"And you're gonna be good for me and take my cock between your legs, right?" 

Clarke glides a palm over his cheek, still grinding desperately into his finger, chasing the strange promise of pleasure. 

"God, yes, anything," she babbles. 

"That's not like you, Princess. You never agree so easily," Bellamy withdraws his finger and takes a step back, and Clarke nearly combusts in frustration, leaving scratch marks against his side. His laughter is low and sends an aching thrill through her. 

"Please, Bellamy. I need you." 

"You need to come," he corrects her, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. 

"That too." 

His charming smile is back when he twists his fingers into the waistband of her panties and tugs them down her legs. She swiftly steps out of them and kicks them into a corner. "Then ask me for it." 

Clarke's heart pounds in her throat, mouth going dry. But Bellamy's looking at her earnestly, one hand stroking the delicate skin at the back of her knee where he's kneeled before her. 

"Would you please make me come?" she whispers. 

"'Course I will," the flash of his teeth shine brilliantly again. "Until you're begging me to stop." 

And then he's hauling her into his arms and she's clinging on like her life depends on it as he moves down the dark hallway toward his bedroom. 


	5. Chapter 5

Everything is hazy on the edges when Bellamy drapes her across his bed. Her head is on a soft pillow, and the sheets are blue she thinks, but in the darkness it's hard to tell. She mewls when his skin stops touching hers as he rises. The bedsprings squeak. Her breathing comes faster. 

 

"Where are you going?" she whispers. 

 

Intuitively she knows she can't be loud. It feels like living on the inside of a soap bubble with the room curving up at the sides into the unknown, highly fragile and ready to self-destruct in an instant. 

 

"To lock the door. We don't want any surprises, do we?" 

 

"Oh. No, you're right." 

 

The thought of Octavia hearing them through the walls or worse walking in on them makes her nauseous. She can't ever find out. 

 

Clarke props herself up on her elbow, one leg stretched in front of her and the other bent at the knee. She's so exposed to him, and it's really starting to hit. She's going to let Bellamy see parts of her nobody has ever seen. He'll see every crease and blemish, touch every delicate place. But Bellamy doesn't give her a ton of time to think. She blinks twice and he's back at the foot of the bed, reaching one roughened hand out to grasp her calf and massage it, gazing down at her with a small glint in his eye. 

 

"Breathe," he says easily, rubbing up and down her leg. "I can see you starting to freak out." 

 

"I'm not freaking out," she snaps haughtily, trying and succeeding at pulling her leg out of his grip. She sits up on her knees, glaring at him. It's hard not to care that her breasts and pussy are on display like this, but she's doing her best. 

 

He tilts his head to the side and presses his lips together. A flash of something softer than lust passes over his face when he slides a smooth thumb over her cheek. "You are a little," he argues. 

 

Clarke's mouth twitches like a rabbit, but then she takes him by surprise, gripping the edge of his boxers and tugging him forward until he's on his knees on the bed before her. 

 

"Guess that's your way of telling me I'm right," he whispers into her hair. Her half-laugh is choked, but then he's tilting her chin up and kissing her again, and she forgets absolutely everything but how his lips feel pressed against hers. 

 

She lets him guide her backward, and her spine curves against the bed in slow motion until she's flat on her back, thighs parted with him in between them, solid and warm. Her fingers roam over the corded muscles of his back and play with the silky dampness of his hair, like one of her paintbrushes dipped in ink while he starts mouthing at her neck. The suckling action and scratch of his light stubbled jaw sends further tremors through her. 

 

Clarke's too shocked, too enthralled maybe to look anywhere but at his mouth when he moves from her neck and starts kissing the fleshy curves of her breasts. Every brush of his mouth is jolting but welcome in its easy slowness. He uses the tip of his tongue to taste her skin and leaves his thigh slotted between her legs, which she bumps up against with every arch of her back when a sensation's too strong. It's embarrassing to feel slick moisture slipping out of her steadily. But then she moans loudly when Bellamy's mouth closes around her nipple, loud enough for him to bring his palm down over her mouth and shake his head at her before smirking and resuming his work. 

 

"You're being so good for me, sweetheart. You doing ok?" he draws back and presses a quick kiss to her temple. 

 

She's not even sure she can talk. But she nods feverishly at him. Her thighs feel tight and quivery and her hips start to buck upward at just the lightest skim of his fingers over the soft swell of her belly. 

 

"Not yet, not yet," he soothes, kissing the hollow between her breasts before squeezing them together in his large hands and moving his lips to her stomach. 

 

He leaves a trail of kisses there that cause her to squirm and tangle her fingers in his hair, flooded with shameful desire that she's encouraging his head lower while being pretty sure his mouth on her clit would actually cause her to fall dead on the spot. 

 

"Jesus, Bellamy," she hisses brokenly when he nips at her inner thigh, blinking up at her with pure mischief in his eyes. 

 

He licks the spot then soothes it with a simple kiss. 

 

"Sorry. Just wanted to taste you. My sexy Princess." 

 

He ducks his head, and it takes her a moment to realize it's a rare moment of genuine  _bashfulness_ from Bellamy Blake. She melts into the mattress, grabbing his biceps and tugging futilely. 

 

"Get up here." 

 

The kisses are wetter now, more sloppy but still delicious. Her blood pumps fast in her ears at every pass of his hands over her hips and ass. She curls one leg up over his hip almost unconsciously when he starts nibbling at her earlobe but then jerks it away when the motion sends his covered dick nudging against her swollen folds. 

 

Bellamy laughs darkly into her ear. She shivers. 

 

"A little more than you bargained for?" 

 

"No," she moans. He's caught her hand at her hip with his own and is using the leverage to keep her legs open and grind his hips into hers deliberately. "Caught me off guard." 

 

" _Clarke_ ," he nudges at her jaw with her nose until some of the stress leaves her shoulders. 

 

"Maybe a little, but nobody needs to feed your ego." 

 

"You want to to stop?" 

 

"No." 

 

He raises an eyebrow. "You sure?" 

 

" _Yes_."

 

He snorts and she catches his eye, where he sees mostly steeled determination. In truth, she's wondering if maybe she shouldn't be insulting the guy she wants more than anybody else to be fucking her before he actually gets around to it. But Bellamy doesn't look that torn up about it. He catches one of her hands and presses the back to his mouth to kiss before bringing it down between their bodies to where his cock is tenting his boxers. He rolls onto his side, careful not to crush her and rubs his thumb over her nipple, delighted by the shudder it sends through her. 

 

"Touch me, Clarke." 

 

Time slows down as she slides her hand down the hills and valleys of his abs to rest on the hardened swell straining the cloth. He feels warm and rigid and larger than what will be able to comfortably fit inside her. It sends her stomach into somersaults. 

 

"That's it," Bellamy hums, mouthing at her shoulder while she strokes him gently. "I'm going to take these off now. I can't fuck you with my boxers still on, sweetheart." 

 

She gulps audibly and lifts her face, so it's inches from his. He stays perfectly still, letting her slide her fingertips over the splash of freckles below his eye. His lashes are so full. She hears the soft exhale of his breaths. Finally, seeming to trust what she sees looking back at her, she nods. When he stands up, Clarke keeps her gaze trained on him, gallons of nervous energy pulsing through her. Excitement is a cocktail zipping through her veins. 

 

His boxers hit the ground, and she finds herself at eye level with his tan cock thick and curved upward to meet her, ending in a mushroom-shaped pink head that's already damp with his arousal. 

 

Bellamy smirks down at her. "Don't think about it too much." He nods at the bed. "Lay down." 

 

He rummages in a drawer on her left. It takes her a minute to realize he's looking for a condom, and even that makes her blush. She can't even control her own damn bodily reactions anymore. He feels more like a weight on her when he settles over her body this time, tossing the foil wrapper to the edge of the bed. For later? She assumes so.

 

The energy in the air around them feels spiked. Clarke rubs the sole of her foot up Bellamy's leg to ground herself, chuckling when the hair there prickles her. 

 

"Being cute, huh?" he nips at her collarbone, and she rolls her head back, exposing more of her neck to him and opening her thighs up unconsciously. 

 

He plucks a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it back and forth then lays a flat palm just under her belly button, eyeing her. 

 

"You good?" 

 

"Yeah, think so," she sighs. "Just, don't--"

 

"Don't?" he coaches. 

 

She turns her face into the pillow and mumbles, "Don't expect a lot from me." 

 

"Hey, hey, hey," Bellamy's rumble sounds close to her ear. He turns her reluctant, pointy chin back to him. "All I care about is that you feel good and like what I'm doing to you, you got that?" He opens his eyes wide and holds her glossy stare. 

 

"Yeah," she murmurs. 

 

"I'm serious," he reiterates, and she gasps right out loud when his fingers unexpectedly dip into her damp folds and coast across her puffy, swollen clit. "You'll figure it out; everyone does." 

 

He eases two fingers into her heat this time, pushing in slow and steady until they disappear, and she's grinding against them, panting while he strokes up along her front wall. It's a tough stretch, like being stuffed, but depending on where he moves them, where he touches, it feels better. 

 

"You had a lot of bad thoughts about me, didn't you, Princess?" he husks into her ear. He's delighted when she nods, closing her hazy eyes and starting to drip onto his fingers. There's a delicate squelch every time he moves them now. "Thought about me on top of you, didn't you, hmm? Wanted to feel my cock pushed inside you, wanted me to make you come?" 

 

"Y-yes, yes!" she jerks into his hand. He feels her muscles starting to clamp around him like the obedient girl she is. He circles her clit more purposefully when he thinks she's ready. Still, her hand flies to his thigh, gripping down in an effort to steady herself. 

 

Bellamy pushes some hair over her shoulder and murmurs praises into her flowery smelling neck. 

 

"You're sensitive, aren't you? But being so good for me anyway. I know you want to make me happy." 

 

Her irises are the faintest blue surrounded by coal black when they meet his eyes. "What would make you happy?" 

 

He catches her mouth with his skillfully, slips his tongue inside and takes a handful of her breast in his palm to squeeze down on it. When he pulls away he applies steadily building pressure to her clit, rolling it around and around with his thumb and starts fucking into her with his fingers more sharply. 

 

"I want you to come, Princess. Go on. All over my fingers. Show me how dirty you are." 

 

It's enough - it's what she needed. Her eyes squinch up tight moments later. She feels like she's about to burst out of her body with how intense the feeling is swelling up low in her hips. As she starts to shake and climax, Bellamy keeps making slow circles on her clit and takes his time pressing onto a charged spot below her belly button. For a few moments, she's scared she'll have to pee, but then right as the pulsing starts to slow, he brings her back to the top of the peak again, and she finds herself slumping back into the pillows, overwhelmed. 

 

"You're so perfect, sweetheart. Coming twice on your first try," he praises. 

 

She grimaces when his fingers leave her, but then he's holding them up to her mouth, smearing her own arousal on her lower lip. She's not sure what to make of it. But his eyes are dark, and he's nodding encouragingly. She can tell his dick's expanded even in the last few minutes from the first time she saw it, and it's nice to know she has this kind of effect on him. That her pleasure can drive him crazy. Still, she hesitates. 

 

"Open up for me, Princess," he encourages. "That mouth of yours is going to be tasting a lot more than yourself tonight." 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 Clarke narrows her eyes at Bellamy, who throws back a raised eyebrow and a small upward jerk of his head in return. 

"Open your mouth." 

The hint of darkness in his words makes her spine tremble, but as soon as she does, he's smiling at her again and slipping two of his fingers coated in her slick straight onto her tongue. The flavor is all tangy salt. She gags a little when his fingers move to the back of her throat. He coos reassurance in her ear, and she sucks on his skin, hollowing her cheeks like she once watched some B-list actress do in a dirty movie the girls found in Raven's house. 

"There you go. Just what you needed. See how delicious you are?"

Clarke flushes and offers a noncommittal jerk of her head.  

Bellamy withdraws his fingers and trails the spit through the dip between her breasts. 

"Now come here." 

He rearranges them so he's sitting with his back to his headboard, pressed against a few squashed pillows. His nakedness intimidates her; he's broad and muscular everywhere she's narrow and curvy. Bellamy must sense her hesitation because he captures her by the back of her neck and tugs her mouth to his carefully, leaving soft, quiet kisses on her lips before transitioning to her jaw. It only takes a minute for her baby groans to kick in. 

"Still with me?" He whispers, but he's already grinning at the way she's got one hand tangled tight in the bedsheets beside him and the other splayed over his thigh in her effort to get closer to him. 

"I'm with you," she breathes back even though her heart is ready to slam clean out of her chest. 

"Good, sweetheart. You're a natural." 

Bellamy takes one of his big hands and covers her breast, stroking the skin beside her nipple lazily before using his thumb to pluck again at the raised point. Clarke keens for him, tipping her head back and revealing the tendons of her neck. "I'm not," she argues.

"No?" Bellamy laughs into her neck, reaching around her body and gripping one of her ass cheeks to draw her nearer to him. "You don't think so?" 

She waits so long to answer that his eyes find hers. 

"I think. I mean... I don't know for  _sure_ but ... you're the only one I feel like this around." 

Bellamy beams at her, even in the darkness it's easy to capture the brilliance of his teeth. His next kiss knocks the breath out of her, it's hard and domineering like he wants to taste every corner of her mouth. She gasps against him, fingers digging into the top of his shoulder blades while he drags her into his lap. A spike of heat pulses up her chest when she realizes she smeared some of her juices along his thigh in the process. 

"You telling me your pretty little pussy is just for me, Princess?"

Both of his hands are cupping her ass now, and his cock is right there resting against the soft roll of her stomach. Clarke blinks repeatedly, staring into his earthy eyes in search of the right answer, the one that will let her be able to climb into his bed again and feel his body move against hers. She raises one shoulder before tumbling forward and burying her face in the corner of his neck, embarrassed. 

"Hey, hey, hey," he rocks her body very slowly, letting a hand card up and down her back. "If this is what you want, you've got to own it, sweetheart. I told you already." 

A few tears slip from the corners of her eyes, and she swats them away hastily, annoyed with her own childish response. She takes a deep, steadying breath of his musky cologne. 

"It's yours. Only yours." 

"Better be sure. I don't want you to regret this later," Bellamy hums, one hand slipping between their bodies and burrowing between her parted legs where he strokes her sleek folds. "You giving this to me, Clarke?" His thumb flicks back and forth over the swelled hood of her clit. "You want to spread your legs for me?"

She nods against him. "Yeah." 

"If you're sure--"

Clarke's eyes squeeze shut when Bellamy's fingers find their way back to her entrance, stretching her open again. There's nothing to do except grind straight into his thick erection. Light bolts of pleasure spark to life in her blood. 

"You know it's going to hurt when I put my cock inside you, right? You can't go back once your sweet cunt is milking me dry. You won't be a perfect Princess anymore," he hums into her shoulder. "You'll be my dirty girl." 

Clarke leans back and stares at him, unsure what to say. He pushes her wavy hair behind her ear and kisses her again. Her mouth opens beneath his quickly, understanding the rhythm of his movements better now. 

"That's what I want," she confesses when he lets her go. Her pale hand trails up and down his chest before scratching a little along his side. "Please?" 

"Goddamn," he says mostly to himself. But then he's patting the space beside him for her to sit and begins stroking his straining cock, allowing the precum beading at the tip to coat the length fully before turning his attention back to her awed expression. She hadn't had much of an opportunity to examine it before. 

"Go on," he coaxes, voice deepening. "I know you want to touch it." 

Clarke holds out a hesitant hand and clasps the girth in her palm. Her fingers nearly meet but not quite. "Tighter," Bellamy's hand swallows hers up to demonstrate. The gesture alone makes her cunt spasm. "Up and down, base to tip, and twist at the end." She watches him with rapt attention while he demonstrates and then when it's her turn to do it alone, tries to replicate his movements as closely as possible. She must be doing something right because after a few strokes, Bellamy tips his head back and grunts in what sounds like appreciation. She likes him like this, looser, with his skin smooth and free of that tick in his jaw or a jumping vein near his temple. 

"Ok, good. That's good," he grunts, knocking her hand away just when she feels like she's getting the hang of it. 

His hand comes up and cups her jaw, rubbing a thumb along her lips. "You know what comes next." He looks down at his pink cock significantly. Clarke purses her lips, but Bellamy clucks his tongue at her. "It's going in your mouth, sweetheart. Don't try to fight it." 

Clarke squares her shoulders and tries to look brave. But she's still watching Bellamy with her too-big blue eyes until he finally caves and says, "What?" 

"You won't choke me, will you?" She has a hell of a gag reflex and doesn't want to make a fool out of herself in front of him like this. 

His expression softens. "No, Princess." He watches the breath leave her body as she shuffles forward on her knees and moves her mouth to his leaking tip. "Not much. Depends how good a job you do." 

She grunts back a chuckle and presses her nails straight into his hip for emphasis that he better be on his best damn behavior. Bellamy swats her ass once, quick and sharp. "Go on." 

And then her mouth is engulfing him, and it's not as bad as she thought. It's sloppy, there's a lot of saliva everywhere. But Bellamy doesn't buck his hips into her mouth much, doesn't force himself on her the way she feared he might. He weaves his fingers into her hair and pets her instead, rubbing at the back of her neck like he's offering a mini massage. He only jolts up twice when she tickles the underside of his dick with the point of her tongue. Eventually, his cock makes its way toward the back of her throat. Bellamy strokes his fingers lightly down the creamy white skin near her collarbone, urging her to "relax and open for him." 

She does gag when he passes the back of her mouth. He draws back and allows her to splutter and breathe before petting the fair blonde hairs protecting her sex and wrapping his fingers around her wrist to bring her head back toward his cock. He rubs the side of her breast this time as she swallows him, calling her his  _perfect, dirty princess_ and telling her how proud he is that she's this good on her first try. 

Finally, he makes a fist and hits the mattress with it when she uses real suction on him, questioning eyes finding his glazed brown ones. "Ease off, sweetheart. That's not where I want my come to go." He draws her back by the shoulder and she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, willing her heart to stop beating so fast. 

"Was it ok?" 

The corner of his mouth lurches up as he takes a few deep breaths himself, she assumes to calm down his arousal. 

"Better than ok." 

She smiles back, then gasps in surprise when he lurches forward to kiss her, knowing where her mouth's just been. But Bellamy doesn't seem to care. He cups her breast in his warm hand and starts kneading it, working her onto her side and then flat on her back underneath him. He's a formidable wall of sinew and muscle around her, but she's glad she can still see his freckles in the low light. His hips rock forward as her legs part for him, and she anchors her knees at his waist on instinct. When the head of his damp cock brushes through her folds though, she stiffens. 

"You have the condom, right?" she squeaks. 

Bellamy chuckles. 

"I got it. But," his fingers fleck over her belly, raising goosebumps in their wake. "What if I pulled out before I come, hmm? Can I come on your body instead?" 

Clarke thinks she must've heard him wrong and sits up, threading her fingers into his curls, angling his face so a beam of moonlight illuminates it. "You want to ...  _what_?" 

Bellamy's voice drops in too seductive a way for her liking. 

"I want to come on your cute stomach," he pokes at it, making her giggle. "On your tits. I promise I won't do it inside you, ok? Do you trust me?" 

"Bell..." she huffs. Her stomach is a jumble of knots. It's such a risk. He resumes a gentle manipulation of her clit, and her whole pussy contracts under the attention. She feels hollow and aches to be filled by him in a way she didn't ever know she could ache. But her mother is a doctor. She knows how pregnancies happen. "I don't want a baby," she manages. 

"I'm not giving you one. Just be good for me, and I'll take care of you." 

Still, he doesn't hover over her yet. Doesn't hold her down or do much at all except watch her expectantly and languidly play with her clit, rolling it back and forth before pushing his wide index finger back into her heat. 

He smirks at her as the seconds tick by and realization dawns on his cheekbones. "You want it too, don't you? That's why you're not arguing with me. You want to feel me bare inside you. I won't fuck it up, Clarke. Go on," he does lean forward now, pressing into her shoulder. "Lay down for me." 

"You'd better not," she threatens, but there's no heat behind it. Her logic left the building a long time ago. She's petrified, but even that does not outweigh her intense longing for Bellamy Blake. 

He's heavy on top of her, letting her absorb more of his weight than before. 

"What are you waiting for?" she demands when he doesn't attempt to move. 

"I told you you'd have to ask, so go on." He bumps his nose into her ear before nibbling on the lobe. "Beg me to take your virginity." 

Her laugh is sharp and metallic, but she presses her fingers into the back of his neck and pulls on his hair. Shaking her head like she can't believe she's saying it, she offers, "I want it to be you. Please fuck me." 

Bellamy's face twitches momentarily like he might comment, but then he just nods at her and hooks one of her legs up around his hip. She rocks into him, nodding, then hissing when the head of his cock catches her entrance before sliding away. There's pressure between her legs as he eases just the tip of himself inside her, a stretch she can tolerate. "Good, you're doing good, Princess." 

She bites her lip and nods back, afraid to attempt speaking. 

"Ok," Bellamy soothes, leaning down to kiss her. "I need you to take a deep breath and count to three with me." 

Clarke paws at his shoulders and sinks her nails into the swath of freckled tan skin in preparation. She's not uneducated enough to think this is going to feel  _good_. 

"One," Clarke starts, and he repeats it after her. 

"Two," they say together.

"Three," Bellamy grunts and pushes deeper into her body, straight past the sting of breaching her hymen. 

"Oh God," Clarke hisses, fingers gripping him intensely until they're shock white at the tips. She feels like her insides were sewn up, and he's tearing through anyway, like there's a route his cock knows should be there, but it's been blocked like the rocks of an avalanche making a mountain road impassable. 

"You're. So. Tight," Bellamy manages, easing out to let her breath and peppering her cheek with a few quick kisses. He glances down between their bodies, and the slip of his chest against hers makes her nipples pebble harder. She can feel the moisture without having to look herself. She knows she's bleeding around his cock. Sweat is staining the hair underneath her neck. His dick roots her to the bed - there's nowhere to go now. She's started this. She has to lie back and take it now. 

"Time to get fucked, Princess," his voice barely even sounds like him. His eyes are nearly black when she takes them in. She does the only thing that makes sense: brings his body down to hers with her hands around his neck and kisses him, tastes his sweetness as a distraction from the throb between her legs as he pushes back inside her, farther this time than before. 

Her pussy molds around him easily, pulsing with its own reactivity and squeezing the veins of his girth. With each thrust and gasp, he reaches deeper into her body, and before she's even aware of it, her hips are rolling up to meet his. 

"Yes, yes, that's my girl," Bellamy encourages, messily licking into her mouth before settling for sucking a bruise at her throat. His hips move languidly at first but then start to build up the pace, making her groan and grunt and keen out his name. 

He fucks her harder when she does that, encouraging her to touch herself and come again for him like a dirty princess should do when she's got a big cock inside her. 

"Bet you were worried you couldn't take it," Bellamy hums into her ear when her next orgasm rips through her stomach and sends aftershocks through her limbs. "But your pussy always belonged to me, Clarke. You know that, don't you?" 

The thing is, she  _does._ It was always going to be this dark-eyed, sharp-tongued nerd with enough muscles to knock out any man who ever looked at her the wrong way. 

"I knew," she whispers to him. "I've known for a while." 

He groans, pulling out of her body with a tremor under his skin, and she already aches from the sharp hollowness it leaves behind. Bellamy grips his cock in one hand and rubs it briefly before it's shooting ribbons of clear-whiteness across the swell of her belly. She catches her breath as a splash finds her breasts, staring down at her torso with wide eyes. Bellamy's face settles down to an expression of satisfaction as he eyes the last strip fall dangerously close to the lips of her pussy. The warmth of it on her skin shocked her, but now that it's done, she kind of wants him to do it again. Still, despite everything, her pussy aches with the knowledge that it wasn't properly filled. Fucking biology. 

"You were perfect," Bellamy rasps, sliding a finger over her nipple and bringing the fluid to her lips, which she opens to him this time without complaint. "Let me get you cleaned up." 

He returns with a warm cloth that he rubs carefully over her body. She twitches when he moves it between her legs, and he kisses the top of her head, slowing down his fingers. "Time to go back to bed," he says after the last bit of skin is wiped clean. 

Clarke pouts. "I don't want to." 

"Too bad you're not in charge," Bellamy smirks at her. 

She rolls her eyes and presses her lips to his once more, fast and dry before rising up. 

"Don't you have anything else you want to say to me?" Bellamy calls out while she pulls on one of his nondescript black shirts over her nakedness. It's not like she can walk through the halls back to the bathroom where her clothes are naked. 

Clarke brings her hand to her hip and turns slowly. "What would that be?" 

"You know what it is," Bellamy's eyes blacken once more. 

Clarke looks down and curves her loose hair over one shoulder. "Thank you for fucking me." 

He smiles, satisfied. "You're welcome, sweetheart." 

When she curls back up in her sleeping bag, Raven is snoring softly, and Harper is rustling about presumably from a dream. Clarke tries to clear her mind and rest, but all she can think about is climbing back into Bellamy's bed.  _It was a one-time thing_ , she reminds herself.  _No one can ever know._

In the quiet morning, her phone vibrates near the spot it's lying by her hip. Glancing quickly around at her a sleeping Harper and Raven, she checks the screen. No telling where Octavia's gotten to. 

 **Bellamy Blake:** Going to the pool after breakfast. Wanna come? 

 **Clarke Griffin:** You sure?

 **Bellamy Blake:** Why wouldn't I be?

She weighs the options in her mind but settles on some version of the truth. 

 **Clarke Griffin:** Figured yesterday was one time only. 

When he doesn't respond after five minutes, she starts feeling nauseous. 

Octavia wraps on the doorframe, shaking her violently from her reverie. "Let's go! Breakfast! I'm making smoothies and pancakes!" 

"Be right there," Clarke promises, trying to smile normally at her friend. 

She takes her time getting ready and drags herself into the kitchen only when she absolutely can't perfect her makeup anymore. There's a dull ache between her legs, which only heightens her embarrassment. Of course Bellamy's at the table already, flipping through the coupon books businesses send out on Sunday mornings with the weekly paper. Harper and Raven are arguing over who gets the last of the Lucky Charms and Octavia's got the blender out, chopping things up intermittently. Bellamy's eyes sweep up and over her body slowly when a creaking floorboard announces her arrival.  

She sits beside him, trying to act like nothing's wrong but still she pushes her chair as far toward Raven's empty one as she can. 

He drums his fingers on the table to catch her attention. 

She swallows hard. His face is too distracting to look at. "What?"

"Did you want it to be?" 

"Huh?"

"A one-time thing?"

"Oh." She glances at the window to the backyard, already flushing, and shakes her head briefly. 

He wiggles his eyebrows approvingly. 

"Good," he says, inconspicuously catching up her hand under the table and drawing it into his lap. "Then it won't be." 


End file.
